


lightness

by nightswatch



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 20:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9200861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswatch/pseuds/nightswatch
Summary: Kent Parson isn't good at family things. He's pretty good at finding new families that are better than his own, though.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ronanlynchisneversleepingagain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronanlynchisneversleepingagain/gifts).



> I promised my pal @ronanlynchisneversleepingagain a family skate fic and now look what happened.
> 
> If you don't do well with arguing parents/domestic abuse/drunk dads/shitty dads in general, please proceed with caution. I wouldn't say it's overly explicit, but it keeps coming up throughout the fic, especially right at the beginning. 
> 
> I wrote this before we figured out that Troy and Swoops are the same person. I changed some stuff in the fic to make sure Swoops' name is Troy now and I hope I didn't miss anything.

Kent can tell by the slam of the front door that tonight is one of the bad nights.

He’s already in bed, safely tucked in, curled around the stuffed lion he got for his birthday from his aunt. His mom turned off the lights and whispered, “Sleep tight, Kenny,” no fifteen minutes ago. He grips his lion a little tighter when he hears his dad’s voice, loud and angry, just down the hallway.

His mother replies, her voice softer, quieter, a peace offering.

But when the front door slams shut in a certain way, Kent’s dad is not in the mood for any kind of peace. The kitchen door is shut with a quiet click, then the voices grow louder, vicious. Something heavy settles in the pit of his stomach.

Kent’s fingers are clutching the little lion’s mane.

His dad laughed when he unwrapped it. “Aren’t you getting a little too old for stuffed animals?”

He’s supposed to be a big boy now, so he doesn’t cry when he hears something shatter in the kitchen. Maybe he’ll find a little shard under the kitchen table tomorrow morning, maybe it’ll match the plate his mom will set down in front of him. She’ll smile at him and ruffle his hair and pretend that nothing’s wrong.

Kent pulls the sheets over his head. His sister is at a friend’s house tonight and won’t come sneaking into his room, won’t slip into his bed and whisper, “Just don’t listen, Kenny.”

_Just don’t listen._

It’s the sort of night where all he can do is wait for silence.

*

“Look, son, that’s just not how you cut onions.”

Kent nearly drops the knife. Little bits of onion go flying and Bob laughs.

He tries to laugh as well, just laugh it off, like he laughs off so many other things. It sounds fake to his own ears and he hopes that Bob doesn’t notice.

Kent was cool about this. He was cool about waltzing into Bad Bob Zimmermann’s house, he was cool about being hugged by Alicia Zimmermann upon his arrival, he was cool about helping them decorate their Christmas tree – “Bobby is Jewish, but I keep telling him, he can pry Christmas out of my cold, dead hands.”

Jack is always close, always sneaking him smiles when his parents aren’t looking. Those smiles are their secret. Jack Zimmermann doesn’t smile at other people like that and Kent isn’t quite sure what to do with that knowledge just yet.

Anyway. He’s cool about sleeping in Jack’s room, he’s cool about playing hockey with Jack and his dad, he’s cool about helping them cook dinner. But Bad Bob Zimmermann just called him _son_ and suddenly Kent isn’t cool about anything anymore. “I–” Kent says and that’s all there is to that sentence.

“Here,” Bob says and takes the knife from him to show him.

In the years to come, that moment right there will bounce about in Kent’s mind, and will remind him that in those few minutes, Bob Zimmermann was more of a father to him than his actual dad ever was in his entire life.

The Christmas he spends in Montreal with the Zimmermanns is the first Christmas he spends with a real family. It’s the first Christmas without raised voices, without hiding in his room, without pulling the sheets over his head and waiting for silence. Instead, he stays up until three in the morning, sitting on Jack’s bed, eating candy, playing video games.

Jack doesn’t know what kind of present he gave Kent when he invited him here for Christmas. He doesn’t know and Kent won’t ever tell him. He’s allowed to have secrets, just like Jack is allowed not to tell Kent what his meds are for. They’re friends, but there are things that are too hard to say.

It’ll all come tumbling out of Kent eventually, but he doesn’t know that yet. For now he gets to pretend.

When Jack’s mom hugs him goodbye, Kent feels like someone punched him in the gut. He can feel tears pricking at his eyes and he only barely manages to choke out a, “Thanks for inviting me,” because no matter what Jack might say, he does have some manners. Like, two. Three on a good day.

“You’re welcome here anytime,” Alicia says. “Call if you need anything.”

Kent only nods, because he’s all out of things to say.

There are kids who are jealous of Jack because he has famous parents and they’ll tease him relentlessly, but Kent isn’t jealous of Jack because his parents are famous, he’s jealous because they’re what parents are _supposed_ to be like, he’s jealous because Jack gets to call his parents embarrassing when Bob tries to steal a kiss from Alicia while they’re decorating the Christmas tree.

Jack throws an arm around his shoulder as they walk to Bob’s car. Kent looks back at Alicia, standing on the doorstep, waving, and even though he doesn’t want to leave, Kent feels strangely light.

He thinks that wherever he ends up, he wants to end up with a family just like this one.

*

Las Vegas doesn’t make things easy for Kent Parson. When he first gets there, he hates it a little bit.

The Aces don’t make it easy for him either. He’s a rookie. He’s playing his heart out, but at the end of the day it never feels like it’s enough. It doesn’t help that the rumor mill is still grinding. It doesn’t help that he thinks every whisper that floats through the locker room is about him. It doesn’t help that this isn’t his team.

It’s Zimms’ team.

Jack should have gone first, he _would_ have gone first, and it haunts Kent like a ghost. Jack still won’t take his calls, won’t reply to his texts, and Kent knows he fucked up somewhere along the line, he just doesn’t know when and why and how. He wants to make it right and Jack won’t let him.

Reporters ask him questions he’s not prepared to answer. His entire existence has turned into a PR nightmare. He snaps at anyone who tries to call him Kenny. Soon enough, he becomes Parse. He plays the best hockey his team could ask for to make up for the rest of it all.

Every night, he sends a text to Jack. Every night, he waits for an answer until he falls asleep.

Kent is staying at a teammate’s house for the time being. Patty is a nice enough dude, shows him around, gives him a ride to practice and makes sure he eats. Patty’s wife records The Ellen Show every day and she shares her snacks with him when he watches it with her. When Patty’s mom visits, she gives him hand-knitted socks in Aces colors.

As the beginning of the seasons draws nearer, Kent can feel the pressure of it all building up, brick upon brick, slowly pushing him down, until one day he’s sitting on the floor next to his bed, sobbing into a pillow so no one will hear.

He wasn’t supposed to be alone. No matter where either of them would have ended up, Kent was supposed to still have Jack after the draft. He was supposed to have someone to call. He was supposed to have someone to talk to, someone who was in the same boat, someone to whisper, “Come on, Kenny, you’ve made it this far.”

Yes, he’s made it this far, but they were supposed to make it this far together.

Kent grabs his phone, texts Jack, doesn’t get a reply. Another _I miss you_ lost in the void.

It’ll take him years to realize that Jack needed some space. It would have made things easier if Jack had just said so. Although. When Kent called and Alicia said, “He doesn’t want to talk, I’m sorry, Kent,” that should have given him a hint. Maybe he just needed to hear it from Jack.

Kent wipes at his eyes, furious, at himself, and at Jack, and at Las Vegas. He wasn’t supposed to be here. And he sure as hell wasn’t supposed to be angry about finally getting to do what he always wanted to do.

He’s living the dream.

But the dream wasn’t supposed to feel this lonely.

His parents come to Vegas for his first game; his sister’s in Dublin and can’t make it. Patty’s wife keeps shooting him worried glances the day before the game. Kent quietly tells her that Katie isn’t here after he gets back from dinner with his parents. His dad was on his best behavior, only had one beer, and some part of Kent appreciates that he’s trying. The other part hears doors slamming and sees dishes flying whenever he looks at him.

The next day, Patty’s wife leaves her Patterson jersey at home and shows up with a Parson one to the game.

Sammy chirps Patty about his wife leaving him for a younger guy, but Patty only shrugs and says, “Actually we just sort of adopted him.” Patty ruffles Kent’s hair. “Right, kiddo?”

Patty gets traded to Houston after Kent’s rookie year and to Kent it somehow feels like he has to start all over again.

*

Kent plays good hockey. He plays good hockey, goes home, goes to practice, goes to the gym, and plays good hockey again.

Somewhere in between, he goes out with his teammates, dances with pretty girls in nightclubs, and tries to forget. He’s starting to see the benefits of Las Vegas, and he has to make sure that he doesn’t look at the benefits too hard or for too long. If he isn’t careful, Vegas might eat him as a midnight snack.

He goes out with a girl here and there, but at the end of the day it’s not what he wants. He plays good hockey and tries to forget about that as well.

Kent isn’t a rookie anymore, but he’s still proving his worth. He still scores, still gets them win after win. Teammates come and go in hockey, people get traded, they retire, but there’s at least a handful of guys on the team that are constants.

The Aces tentatively start to feel like a family to him.

They look out for him.

Rudy nearly murders one of the Schooners D-men when he even so much as gives Kent a shove. Kent isn’t much of a fighter himself; he usually isn’t one of the biggest guys on the ice and Travers is a massive dude that Kent doesn’t want to get too close to if he can help it.

Once Rudy and Travers are separated, Travers glares at Kent as he skates off. “Touch Swoops again and I’ll break your fucking face.”

Look. Kent touched Troy for about a millisecond and it wasn’t even deliberate, but the Schooners aren’t having a great season and they’re all a bit worked up about it. Although maybe Travers wouldn’t have tried to fight him if Kent hadn’t told him to calm his tits.

“Don’t worry,” Sammy mutters behind Kent, “I’ll break his face before he even gets to you.”

Kent grins. He scores twice before the game is over and the second time Rudy hugs him so hard he can barely breathe.

He stays away from Troy for the rest of the game, though.

*

When Kent gets home, his apartment is quiet and empty.

He doesn’t switch on the lights. He pulls his phone out of his bag, kicks off his shoes and shuffles into the living room, where he collapses on the couch on top of a magazine and an empty bag of chips.

He’s pretty sure that what’s slowly lighting up his living room is not the lights of Vegas but the actual sun.

Kent has no idea what time it is.

It doesn’t matter, though, because a couple of hours ago he won the Stanley Cup, and when you’ve won the Stanley Cup, you don’t need to know what fucking time it is.

He presses the home button on his phone. It’s still as flooded with messages as it was the last time he checked before he went out with the rest of the team. He’s gonna have to sift through all those texts and missed calls and Twitter notifications at some point, but if there’s one thing he’s ever been sure of, it’s that that point is not right now.

He finds the text from his mom, reads it and sends a quick reply. He finds the one from his sister, reads it and promises himself that he’ll reply to her tomorrow. He finds a voicemail from Bad Bob. Kent’s saving that one for tomorrow as well. Then, when he doesn’t find a text or missed call that has the name Jack Zimmermann attached to it, he puts down his phone.

Kent’s apartment is quiet and empty, but he’s the captain of the Las Vegas Aces and he just won the Stanley Cup.

This is what he wanted, isn’t it?

It’s what he wanted.

*

Kent visits Jack at Samwell and things aren’t okay between them when he arrives and things aren’t okay between them when he leaves.

He goes back to Vegas. He lashes out at practice. He buys a house. He gets injured and has to sit out ten games. His house is even quieter and emptier than the apartment he used to live in. He can’t remember why he thought that moving into a house was a good idea.

A month later one of his guys breaks up with his girlfriend and needs a place to stay. For a bit, Kent’s house isn’t all that quiet and empty anymore.

All the while, his thoughts find their way back to Zimms.

It’s still over two years until Jack graduates, but maybe then they could– Kent is the Aces’ captain, he could get them to sign Jack, right? They could play together again. And maybe then Kent wouldn’t feel like he’s a bucket with too many holes anymore. He can’t hold it all in anymore. It’s too much.

He’s not sure why he thinks that having Jack in his life again will fix everything. Sometimes, when he can’t sleep at night, he catches himself thinking that it won’t be that easy.

*

Kent doesn’t go home for Christmas.

He tries not to think of Montreal.

*

It’s a few weeks into the new year that Kent accidentally adopts a cat.

The Aces are working with a local shelter and Kent gets roped into it because he’s the face of the franchise, he’s The Captain, and who wouldn’t want to adopt a puppy when it’s Kent Parson who’s telling you to do so? Or at least that’s what PR thinks. Kent is entirely – or at least _almost_ entirely – at their mercy. When they want him to wear a ridiculous hat and sing Christmas carols, that’s what he has to do. When they want him to play with puppies, that’s what he has to do.

So Kent sits amidst half a dozen puppies and the PR guys are just loving it. Actually, Kent is loving it a little bit, too. Maybe he’s even loving it a lot.

The thing is, though, he doesn’t know what true love is until a huge furry something decides to curl up in his lap. “Um…” Kent says.

“Oh, that’s just Kitty. Don’t worry, she’s friendly.”

“Kitty,” Kent says. The huge furry something is a cat. A cat that has apparently decided that Kent’s lap is her new home, a cat that starts purring the second Kent scratches her behind the ears, a cat that’s soft and warm and– “Can I take her home?”

He doesn’t even know what the fuck he’s thinking when he says it. He just saw himself coming home to this furry beast after a game and somehow he went from imagining it to making it a reality in the span of a second.

So he takes her home and Kitty becomes Kit.

He sets Kit down in the middle of his living room, and says, “Everything the light touches is your kingdom.”

Kit scurries away to hide under the couch.

“Fine, or just be a cave troll, that’s okay, too. Follow your dreams.”

In all honestly, Kent doesn’t really know how to be a cat owner. He knows how to play hockey and that’s about it. He does some googling. When he’s done with the googling, he has written the longest shopping list of his life. He already has the essentials from the shelter, but he’s fully intending on spoiling Kit rotten.

If she ever decides to come out from under the couch.

Kent sits down on the floor and bends down to look at her, eyes shiny, tail swishing. “Look, we’re in this together, okay?” he says. He knows what it feels like to come to a new place, to live with someone you barely even know, to feel alone even though you aren’t.

On a whim, Kent goes digging through his closet and resurfaces with an old stuffed lion. It’s not exactly a cat, but it’s Kit-sized. Maybe she just needs a friend. And Kent is definitely not adopting a second cat before he’s sure that he can handle one.

He sets the lion down on the big cushion he got for Kit.

Kit stays under the couch.

Kent might as well take care of that shopping list. He says, “I’ll be back soon,” before he leaves, because he temporarily forgets that cats don’t understand the concept of human speech. He comes home to Kit curled around the lion, fast asleep, and the thought that he’ll come home to this every day now puts a smile on his face.

It takes Kit a bit to get used to him. It takes Kent a bit to get used to all the cat hair. It also takes him a bit to learn the true dangers of a swishing tail. Glasses break. Kent fails at explaining to Kit that she has a perfectly good cat tree and that there’s no need for her to ruin his couch.

But it’s okay.

It’s okay, because when Kent gets home after a game, his house may be quiet, but it’s not empty.

*

What doesn’t change, even though Kent has spent his entire career with the Aces, is that people come and go. With some Kent stays in touch. He’s still invited to dinner at Patty’s whenever the Aces are in Houston. Patty has two kids now. They both have Parson jerseys.

Sometimes guys are called up from Reno, but they hardly ever stick around for very long.

Rudy retires at the end of the season.

Kent sort of adopts a rookie. Kit adopts the rookie, too.

And then Jeff Troy is traded to Vegas.

*

“Are you hiding out here?”

“No,” Kent says.

The garden swing that Kent is currently perched on sways back and forth when Swoops sits down next to him. It’s not exactly warm and no one would sit out here voluntarily when there’s a party going on inside. It’s their rookie’s birthday and Sammy is throwing him a party.

Kent was halfway through a massive burger when one of the guys brought up Jack Zimmermann. And of course everyone knows that he and Jack were teammates, _friends_ , and Kent had to say that, no, he knows nothing about who Jack’s going to sign with about a dozen times, even though he’s almost certain that Jack will sign with the Falcs.

Then he snuck out, pretending that he’d missed a call from his sister. That was half an hour ago.

Swoops clears his throat. They both know that Kent’s sister didn’t call. “Everything okay?” Swoops asks, because he’s the kind of guy who asks that sort of shit.

Kent is the kind of guy who makes sure that everyone knows that he’s around should they need anything, but he’ll never say the words _is everything okay_. People lie when they’re asked that question. Jack lied to Kent when he asked. And Kent is about to lie to Swoops. “Yeah,” Kent says.

“Right,” Swoops says. “Okay. I guess I’ll leave you alone.”

Kent doesn’t reply.

“Unless you don’t want me to leave you alone.”

Maybe Swoops is a fucking mind reader. Because Kent doesn’t want to be alone. He wants someone to figure him out. He wants someone to tell him what’s wrong with him so he doesn’t have to. Kent once again doesn’t reply, though, because at the same time he doesn’t want anyone to know that he’s really, really not okay. He doesn’t even know how to put it into words, all the things that he’s feeling. Ever since he went back to Samwell in December to try and convince Jack to sign with Vegas, Kent has been a mess.

He still plays good hockey, is trying his hardest not to give anyone a reason to suspect that he’s anything other than perfectly fine, but he can feel the facade crumbling. Every day it gets a little worse and Kent has no idea how to make it stop.

He’s built this perfect person around himself. Kent Parson, who isn’t Kent Parson without an Aces cap, Kent Parson, who flirts with journalists and chirps his teammates into oblivion, Kent Parson, snarky and confident, record-breaker, golden boy. Sometimes he feels like there’s a whole other Kent Parson underneath all of that.

Swoops shuffles his feet.

Kent didn’t know all that much about him before he came to Vegas; he didn’t see him as one of the big players. Then he showed up and started scoring. Maybe he just plays better with them, maybe the Schooners didn’t give him enough credit. In any case, Swoops is a gift to the team.

And it’s not just that he’s a good player. Swoops cracks jokes; he smiles day in day out. He’s one of the most good-natured dudes Kent has ever met in his entire life. He’s like a human puppy. And he looks like he gives good hugs. Kent has been watching him hug people all season long, he was just never on the ice when it happened.

Kent doesn’t even remember the last time someone hugged him. The last time he got close to someone, he was at Samwell, up in Jack’s room, his fingers curled into Jack’s shirt.

He sucks in a deep breath.

“You know,” Swoops says, “not to sound like a smartass or anything, but sometimes talking to someone helps.”

“Dude, you did sound like a smartass.”

“Fine, whatever. Still… there’s people, you know, who are professionals, and who can’t tell anyone what you said, maybe you should–”

“Yeah, thanks but no thanks, Troy,” Kent says. He’s not talking to a fucking shrink. The fact that Swoops thinks he should be talking to a shrink makes his skin crawl with anger. He’s not– He’s _fine_. He’s keeping it together.

There’s something inexplicably gentle in the way Swoops is looking at him. He cares and Kent wants someone to care, but at the same time he’s absolutely not ready for someone to care. “All right,” Swoops says, “I was just trying to help.”

“Did I fucking ask you to help?” Kent snaps.

Swoops narrows his eyes at him. “Guess you didn’t,” he says and gets up. “Don’t stay out here for too long. It’s getting cold.”

Kent knows that this is where he needs to apologize because he can’t go around treating a teammate like shit just because he feels like life has pulled the rug out from under him.

In the end, Swoops walks away and Kent doesn’t say a word.

Kent bites down on his bottom lip. He hasn’t felt this lost and out of place since he first came to Vegas.

Swoops doesn’t smile at Kent when he walks into the locker room the next day. Actually, he doesn’t look at him at all. Swoops’ anger is a quiet thing. It’s barely anger at all. Swoops might actually be the epitome of _I’m not angry, just disappointed_.

Look. Swoops isn’t the first person Kent has snapped at. Chances are that he won’t be the last. Usually it’s about hockey, though. What they talked about last night was more personal.

Kent doesn’t get a chance to talk to him before practice, but he catches Swoops by his jersey before he has a chance to get off the ice.

“Swoops…”

“Parse,” Swoops says. He sounds resigned.

Kent is gripping his hockey stick like a lifeline. Apologies don’t come naturally to him. “I’m sorry,” Kent says. “About… you know.”

“No, I get it. It was none of my business.”

“Still, I…” Kent shouldn’t have talked to him like that. That’s what he should say. It’s an apology he owes Jack as well. “That wasn’t– I’m sorry.”

Swoops nods. He’s still not smiling. “It’s okay,” he says.

It’s not okay. Not really.

*

Jack Zimmermann signs with the Providence Falconers.

No matter what he might have said to Jack back at Samwell about the Falcs, Kent is proud of him. They were both supposed to make it. And now they have.

*

It’s July when Kent finds someone to talk to. He goes through four therapists before he finds one that doesn’t make him want to say, “Actually I’m perfectly fine and I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

He texts Swoops to tell him about it.

He gets a smiley face in return.

After that, things don’t feel quite as off-kilter anymore.

*

Kent has come up with roughly twenty-three reasons why he can’t come to the Aces’ family skate. He forgets about all of them when Gabe sidles up to him after practice and tells him that his little brother is flying in from DC with his parents and that he’s more excited about meeting Kent than he is about seeing Gabe.

Gabe used to play for the Aeros. Before he came to Vegas, Kent got a text from Patty, telling him to take good care of his boy.

So Kent is going to the family skate.

It’s not that Kent doesn’t like kids; he loves them and their tiny little smiles, he just doesn’t know what to _do_ with them. Thankfully Gabe’s brother is sixteen and Kent doesn’t have to worry about whether or not he’ll understand what he’s saying to him. Sammy's kid is two and babbles at him and Kent is more convinced than ever that he’ll never speak toddler.

He shoots a puck back and forth with Karly’s seven-year old for a bit, puts Karly’s goalie gloves on Sammy’s daughter Jenny, pulls kids around on sleds, and eventually ends up with Swoops on a sled. Neither of them breaks anything, which he considers a minor miracle.

Swoops, unlike Kent, actually knows how to talk to kids. Even two-year-olds who _babble_. He skates about with little Jenny on his arm and she’s waving at her dad and is clearly having the time of her life. It doesn’t look all that hard when Swoops does it.

Then Swoops tries to hand her to Kent and she starts crying before he’s even touched her. “Okay, you know what, you keep her,” Kent says.

Swoops snorts at him. “You just looked like I was about to hand you a bomb, dude.”

Kent glares at him.

Swoops fucking winks at him before he takes off for another lap around the rink. Kent watches him go and wonders why his folks aren’t around. Kent wasn’t at last year’s family skate so he doesn’t know if he had anyone visiting then, but he’s pretty sure that he met Swoops’ brother plus a niece and a cousin after a game earlier this year.

He talks about his family all the time and it’s honestly a little hard to keep track. Swoops will mention a cousin and then someone will ask, “The one from Florida?” and Swoops will say, “No, the other one,” and then someone will ask, “The one who works for the government?” and Swoops will say, “No, that’s a different one, too,” and there’s really potential for that conversation to never end because Swoops has an infinite number of cousins.

Kent has heard so many cousin stories; he’s long since lost count. He somehow just clicked with Swoops, maybe not so much last year, but now Kent spends at least one evening a week with Swoops on his couch, watching TV or playing whatever video game Swoops brings over. Sometimes Swoops cooks. Sometimes Kent orders pizza because he’s too lazy to cook. Sometimes Swoops falls asleep literally anywhere in Kent’s house.

He likes having Swoops around. When he’s there, Kent’s house is neither empty nor quiet. Definitely not quiet.

Kent watches Gabe’s brother chase Gabe around the rink. Sammy is cheering them on, an arm slung around his wife and Kent isn’t jealous but he’s definitely _something_.

Swoops hands over Jenny and a moment later he skates right into Kent, laughing when he catches Kent off guard and pushes him into the boards. “Gotcha,” Swoops says and pulls Kent’s beanie over his eyes before he backs off.

Kent laughs and pulls it back up.

“So…” Swoops tilts his head, considering Kent. There’s warmth in his eyes, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Sammy said you wouldn’t show up. Like last year.”

Kent doesn’t tell him how very nearly he faked a mysterious one-day illness. “I’m not good at this kind of thing.”

“Talking to children?”

“Family stuff,” Kent says. “But yeah, I’m definitely not good with kids either.”

“Please, those little shits worship you no matter how awkward you are around them. You’re Kent Parson. You’re their Hockey God.”

“Shut up.”

Swoops grins.

Kent tries to roll his eyes at him, to give him any kind of response that hides how well and truly done he is with this day, but all he manages is to duck his head and shrug.

“It sucks when they can’t make it,” Swoops says quietly. “Like, you barely ever see them face to face anyway and–”

“I didn’t invite anyone,” Kent says. It just tumbles out of him, a tiny little piece of truth he’d never meant to share. It happens sometimes.

Swoops only stares at him and Kent can practically watch Swoops realize that he’s never met a single member of Kent’s family. “Shit. Shit, Kent, I just thought… Because you said your sister’s in Dublin and I– Sorry.”

“Yeah, I mean, my sister _is_ in Dublin.” His sister is a million miles away and other than her there’s a lot of dead people and a handful of distant cousins. And his parents.

Kent knows that he owes them, because they worked hard to get him where he is today, and so he’ll send them stuff and buy them a new fridge when their old one breaks. He tries to pay them back, but he can’t go home. He loves his mom, he calls her once a week, at least, and they talk, and then he catches himself wondering what it would be like if she’d just… left. If she’d taken Katie and Kent when they were still kids and left.

The mere thought of it makes his chest feel tight.

“Your folks couldn’t make it, huh?” Kent says. He doesn’t want to explain. Not here, not now, not ever.

“Yeah, it’s just… work stuff, mostly,” Swoops replies. “And my dad won’t get on a plane without my mom because flying scares the crap out of him. My brother’s in Canada for work, my sister’s kid is in a play tonight. Stuff like that.”

“You should invite them to a game instead.”

“Yeah, I already got my sister tickets for our game in LA.”

“She’s in LA?”

“Her wife’s from around there,” Swoops says and there’s something guarded about his expression now, like he’s expecting to Kent to be a dick about his sister having a wife.

Which is– Well. There’s a reason Kent isn’t out to his team. He thought about telling some of them. Several times. He chickened out, even though he knows they’re decent guys, most of them anyway. But there’s no point in it, it’s not like he can just go out and hook up with a guy. At this point, too many people in Vegas know who he is. Too many people have phones with really good cameras. Too many people are chatty as fuck.

“Cool,” Kent says, which is probably not ideal, but it seems to be good enough for Swoops. “What do they do?”

Kent spends the rest of the family skate listening to Swoops talk about his sister’s catering business and his two nieces and it’s surprisingly not horrible. Swoops has always been a talker, he’s good with the press, not because he has good media training, but because everything he says just makes him even more likeable, even when he puts his foot in his mouth.

“I’m going to their place for Christmas,” Swoops says as he’s tying off his skates. “You know…”

“What?”

“What are you doing? For Christmas, I mean.”

“Guess I’m just gonna party hard with Kit,” Kent says. He’ll stay on the couch all day, he’ll eat the unhealthiest shit he can find and he’ll watch movies with Kit curled up on his chest.

“Or you could come to California with me.”

“Are you inviting me to your sister’s place without asking your sister first?”

“Yeah,” Swoops says and he’s all smiley about it.

When Swoops first came to Vegas, Kent thought that smile was gonna end up pissing him off one day. Now he can’t even imagine coming to the rink and not having Swoops around to smile at him.

*

“Explain to me again why we’re driving.”

“Because driving to the airport and getting on a plane and flying to LA and getting off the plane and driving to my sister’s place takes about as long as just driving there from Vegas.” Swoops turns up the radio. He’s listening to AC/DC, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. “Anyway, I like driving.”

Swoops likes driving and Kent, well, he doesn’t hate driving, but there’s a lot of desert between Vegas and LA and he’s been feeling antsy ever since they left half an hour ago. He feels like he’s intruding, even though Swoops actually did ask his sister if it was okay for him to bring Kent for Christmas dinner. They’re only staying for one night and Kent has an entire bag full of Aces merch in the trunk.

“What do I get them for Christmas?” Kent asked Swoops at practice the other day. Because. He has to get them something, right? He can’t show up without presents.

“Just get the girls jerseys. They love that shit, seriously. I think they might cry if I bring Kent Parson to Christmas dinner and they don’t get jerseys out of it. And nothing for my sister. We have rules.” There are a lot of present-related rules in the Troy family, apparently, “Because there’s just too many siblings, too many cousins, they all have kids, like, where do you start with the presents and where the fuck do you stop?”

“Huh,” was all Kent had to say to that. His sister doesn’t have kids. He has two cousins that he’s not really in touch with, because they only suddenly came crawling out of the woodwork when Kent got drafted and they thought there was something in it for them.

He throws pucks to kids and hands over hockey sticks and jerseys because he loves how it lights up their eyes. They look up to him. They look at him and they see Kent Parson, one of the best players in the NHL; they see a Stanley Cup champion. They don’t see the Kent Parson who can’t look his dad in the eyes, who’s scared of going home, who’s scared of letting anyone get too close.

“Earth to Parser…”

“What?”

“You okay, man?” Swoops asks. “I just asked if you want to pick a song.”

Kent picks up Swoops’ iPod, sifts through 80s rock bands, and eventually unplugs it. “Sorry, but this is just… unacceptable. And also a little sad.”

“Excuse you, asshole, my taste in music is impeccable.” Swoops glances at him and groans. “You’re gonna make me listen to Britney Spears, aren’t you?”

Kent grins and puts on Katy Perry, and Swoops threatens to make him walk the rest of the way to LA, but when Kent is singing at Swoops that he’s a firework, Swoops laughs and swats at him, and Kent turns it up louder and the desert flies past and Kent might not feel like he’d be lying if he said that he’s okay right now.

It jumps on him, suddenly, that lightness he feels when he scores, when they win a game, he’s feeling it right now, too.

He holds on to it all the way to Swoops’ sister’s little house, the door painted red, the porch decked in plants, the front lawn full of Christmas decorations. Mel, who is so obviously Swoops’ sister that it hurts, opens the door for them with one kid on her arm and another one hiding behind her legs.

Two minutes later, the girls are climbing all over Swoops and Kent is being ushered into the house by Mel.

Mel, it turns out, is about as talkative as Swoops.

“Okay, so basically our guest room is Evie’s study, so… Evie’s my wife, by the way, she’s picking up some milk from the store, but she’ll be back in a couple of minutes. Anyway, I’m putting you on the pull-out couch in there and Jeff on the living room couch, I hope that’s not a problem.”

“I hate the living room couch,” Swoops says and fake-pouts for a little while.

Kent gets roped into playing a board game with Swoops and the kids, meets Evie, who writes children’s books, helps with dinner and gets praised for his onion cutting skills and eventually ends up on the couch between the girls, who are making him show them every video of Kit he’s ever taken. It’s a good thing that he takes one every other day.

The kids are ushered to bed after they’ve put some milk and cookies and carrots on the table for Santa, and there’s a lot of laughing and screeching when Swoops chases them to the bathroom so they can get ready for bed.

Swoops returns with yet another plate full of cookies; Evie and Mel return with two bottles of wine. Then Mel starts to tell stories. About her and Swoops’ brother and that one time he fell into the Christmas tree, about their dad and his vehement refusal to watch _The Fox and the Hound_ with the kids – Kent understands, honestly – and then the stories turn to Swoops.

And Swoops, red-faced, hides behind a pillow while Mel recounts his first hockey game and an incident where he threw up on their racist uncle’s shoes and how he nearly ruined Mel and Evie’s first date and– “Hey, Jeff, remember when you went out on your first date and you borrowed my car because you went to a drive-in movie theatre and then you kept killing the engine.”

“God, don’t remind me. We missed like half an hour of that movie. Your car was such a cockblock.”

“Your driving skills are a cockblock,” Mel says.

“Are you sure it was your driving and not your taste in music?” Kent asks.

“Fuck you, Parse,” Swoops says and a pillow lands square on Kent’s face.

There’s that lightness again and Kent isn’t sure if it’s been there all day or if it’s just now sneaking up on him again – or slamming into him like a pillow.

When the wine is gone and Swoops is starting to yawn, Evie and Mel get up to get the presents. Swoops unceremoniously dumps his and Kent’s next to the tree and then drags Kent off to Evie’s study.

“Better to get out of the way before they start bickering,” Swoops says. “D’you mind if I hang out in here until they’re done? Mel is all about arranging them nicely and Evie doesn’t have that kind of patience and I also don’t have that kind of patience so…”

“Yeah, sure,” Kent says and flops down on the already pulled-out couch. There are drawings on the wall that isn’t hidden behind bookshelves and Kent is pretty sure that one of them is Swoops in his old Schooners jersey. “Do you miss Seattle?”

“Huh?” Swoops says. He follows Kent’s gaze and grins. “Ah… Well, I mean, it was… I liked it well enough, but the Aces are… Better. In a lot of ways.” Swoops lies down next to him, his grin getting even broader. “The captain’s a bit of a dork, but–”

“Hey,” Kent says and elbows Swoops in the ribs.

Swoops laughs and points at a photo of Mel and Evie, a couple of years younger, Evie red-haired instead of blonde, sitting in a field behind a house. “That’s where I grew up. I mean, you can’t really see much of the house, but…”

“Looks nice,” Kent says.

“Yeah, I like going back there, I mean–” He shakes his head. “Sorry. That was, like, the most insensitive thing anyone has ever said, probably.”

Kent rolls over so he’s facing Swoops. “It’s fine.”

“Is it really?” Swoops asks. He rolls over as well, his eyes dark, serious.

Kent looks away. “Can we not,” he says. He can feel anger creeping up his spine, swallowing up that lightness that’s still lingered. It’s not even Swoops that he’s angry at, even though Swoops does that thing where he asks the really uncomfortable questions, not because he’s nosy, but because he _cares_. Kent is angry at himself. Because he can’t say, _No, it’s not fine, but this is the best Christmas I’ve had in years, so maybe it really_ is _fine, all things considered._

“Okay,” Swoops says.

Kent smirks at him. Moving on swiftly. “How about you tell me more about your disastrous high school dates?”

Swoops looks at him for a long moment before he replies. There’s something hanging in the air between them. Gears are turning. Decisions are being made. “I didn’t really go out on too many dates,” Swoops says. “As you heard, Neil wasn’t all that impressed with my driving skills.”

“Neil,” Kent echoes, because he’s honestly not sure if he misheard for a second.

“Yeah,” Swoops says. “Neil. He was our goalie. He’s not playing anymore, but he… He’s a decent guy, he wouldn’t tell anyone that I took him out on the most terrible date of his life when we were sixteen, so…”

“Do you want to tell the team?” Kent asks.

“No, look, I…” Swoops scrunches up his nose. There’s something about that right there. _Something_. “I didn’t tell you because you’re the captain or whatever, I told you because you’re a decent guy and because I was ninety-nine percent sure that you wouldn’t give me shit for it.”

“Did you just say that I’m a decent guy?”

“Of course that’s what you take away from that,” Swoops says and rolls his eyes at Kent. “Whatever, mark your calendar, asshole, I’m never saying that again.”

Kent laughs. He has his own confessions sitting at the tip of his tongue, but now is not the time for that. “Hey,” he says and punches Swoops in the shoulder. “I got your back, yeah?”

Swoops smiles at him and somehow that smile is the most important one yet.

*

When Kent checks his phone after the end of practice, he has two missed calls from his mom. No messages. He knows it’s nothing he needs to worry about; if it was urgent, she would have left a voicemail.

Kent pulls on his Aces hoodie and slips out of the locker room, away from his whooping and hollering teammates. He calls her back and she answers on the second ring.

“Kenny, hey, how are you?”

“Hi,” Kent says. “I’m good. Everything okay at home?”

His mom sighs and that’s never a good sign. It’s the _I wish you’d give your father another chance_ sigh. “It’s your dad’s birthday next month.”

“I know.”

“It’s his fiftieth. We’re throwing a big party,” his mom says. “He wants you to come, Kenny, he really does.”

“I can’t,” Kent says. It’s what he’s been saying for years. His parents come to the Aces’ games when they’re playing somewhere close to New York, but other than that Kent tried to spend as little time with his dad as possible. He mostly succeeded.

“Are you sure? You don’t have a game that day. Can’t you maybe miss practice just that once?”

“Mom…”

“He’s been doing a lot better, you know? He goes to meetings, Kenny. He’s _trying_. And he wants to see you.”

“I can’t,” Kent says again. “Really. I’ll…” He takes a deep breath. He’s not going to cry in this hallway, not with half his team still in the locker room. “I’ll get him something, I promise. I won’t forget.”

“I know you won’t forget, sweetie. But I think the best gift would be if you’d just–”

“Mom,” Kent says. “I really can’t. I, uh… I’m at the rink, I gotta go, but I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“All right,” she says. “Kenny? Think about it, please?”

“Mom, I really gotta…”

“Okay. Love you, sweetie.”

“Bye, mom,” Kent says and hangs up. He briefly considers hurling his phone against the opposite wall.

A door slams shut down the hall and Kent’s phone clatters to the floor instead. He swears when he picks it up. He swears when he sees Swoops coming down the hall. It’s too late to hide and part of him is already coming up with excuses, but then Swoops is standing in front of him, wordlessly looking at Kent.

Kent stares back at him and he wants to reach out so badly it hurts, and he also wants to tell him to leave him the fuck alone, but he can’t take it out on Swoops, not again. Swoops doesn’t deserve this kind of shit. Kent has been trying to be better than this.

So he says nothing and somehow that’s enough to make Swoops understand.

“Come on,” Swoops says and pushes Kent further down the hall and into an empty conference room. “Take a deep breath.”

Kent tries. He closes his eyes, fingernails digging into his palm. He’s so fucking angry that he wants to break something.

“Can I do anything?”

Kent shakes his head.

“Do you want me to go?”

Kent can’t look up, but he wants to know what Swoops’ face looks like when his voice sounds like that. Level. Gentle.

Some things are hard to say. Some things are even impossible to say. It feels like the entire universe will crumble into dust if he ever says them out loud. _Please don’t go_ is one of them.

Kent slowly unclenches his fist. “No,” he says.

“Hey, Parse…” Swoops reaches out and all Kent has to do is take one step forward. He faceplants right against Swoops’ chest and then Swoops’ arms are around him, holding him tight, and it’s the best damn feeling in the world.

*

It happens gradually from then on.

It’s Swoops’ arm on his back here and Kent’s head on Swoops’ shoulder there, and despite of how little those things are, Kent notices. He notices every touch, no matter how fleeting, notices when Swoops’ hand lingers on his shoulder, he notices and he never wants it to stop. 

Kent doesn’t go home for his dad’s birthday. Forgiving him won’t help. It’s what he tells himself and it’s what he tells his therapist and it’s what he tells Swoops when he shows up at Swoops’ apartment unannounced on his dad’s birthday with two pizzas before he falls asleep with his head in Swoops’ lap.

A part of him begins to understand where he went wrong with Jack. He tells Jack that he wants to apologize. Whenever Jack is ready. Kent will wait. He tells Swoops about Jack when he shows up at Swoops’ apartment unannounced with a bag full of Chinese food and they’re lying upside down on Swoops’ bed, listening to music that’s surprisingly not shitty even though Swoops picked it.

Kent feels like he pushed a fucking boulder off his chest when he says it out loud.

*

The Aces make it to playoffs this season, but they don’t make it to the last round. Kent is still pretty damn proud of the team. _His_ team. Of course he’s disappointed, they all are, but they fought hard and they fought until the last second.

“Next year,” Sammy says and ruffles Kent’s hair as he passes.

Kent has dealt out a fair deal of pats and hugs and hair-ruffles himself and skated off the ice with his arm around Karly, because Kent just knew that Karly was gonna beat himself up about this loss in particular. Honestly, Kent wouldn’t want to trade places with a goalie even if you paid him.

One by one, the guys file out of the locker room.

“Dinner at my house the day after tomorrow,” Karly says before he leaves.

“See you, guys,” Gabe says and slips out the door.

“Party at my place next week,” Kent reminds them all before they go. It’s a bit of a tradition. They come to his house before they all leave at the end of the season, no matter when the end of the season may be, because they’re a family. They’re _Kent’s_ family.

But at first they’ll go home and come to terms with the fact that this is the end of the road for now, and maybe they’ll think about what went wrong, or maybe they’ll curl up on their couch and cry on their severely unimpressed cat. Or at least that’s what Kent thinks he’ll do.

It grows quiet around Kent. He always stays until everyone else is gone. Last one turns off the lights and all that.

He’s not the last one, though. Swoops is still there, standing a few feet away from him, dressed and ready to go. “Come on, Parse. Time to go home.”

“Yeah,” Kent says and pulls on his shoes as slowly as he possibly can. It’s the same thing every year. He’s more than ready for a break but he doesn’t want it to be over. He never wants it to be over.

Kent gets up and Swoops bumps his shoulder. “Good game, Parson.”

 _Not good enough_ , he wants to say. He tugs at the sleeve of Swoops’ suit. “Right back at ya, Troy.”

Swoops’ fingers twitch, but other than that he doesn’t move an inch. Looks like Kent isn’t the only one who isn’t quite ready to go.

Kent doesn’t have a good explanation for what happens next. He’s still holding on to Swoops’ sleeve. He’s watched this strange _something_ build up between them over the last couple of months and every time he thought he could see where it’s going, he managed to convince himself that he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t, because look at how it ended last time. He couldn’t, because a guy like Jeff Troy deserves more than what Kent can give him.

Right now he can see it so clearly, though. Right now he’s five seconds away from taking Swoops’ hand. Right now he’s thirty seconds away from asking Swoops to come home with him. Right now he’s a minute away from kissing Swoops, because right now he’s willing to try.

Kent lets go of Swoops’ sleeve and curls his finger’s around Swoops’ hand.

“Really, you’re making a move on me _now_?”

“Yeah, Jeff. _Now_ ,” Kent says. _I’ve had it with your shit, Jeffrey. I’ve had it with my own shit, too._ “Wanna come home with me?”

“Sure,” Swoops says with an easy smile.

Kent doesn’t kiss him. Swoops gets there first, pulls him in, tangles his fingers in Kent’s hair and doesn’t let go. Kent doesn’t let go either. He wraps his arms around Swoops and holds on.

Right then, he feels lighter than he ever has before in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are very much appreciated!
> 
> I'm @zimmermaenner on tumblr if you wanna say hi :)


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